


Greater Affinity

by GretaRama



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretaRama/pseuds/GretaRama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this a while back, it has been posted elsewhere, but here is the latest version, slightly tweaked. Great Aunt Cornelia and Diogenes Pendergast have a special relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greater Affinity

A few summers past, the owners of the estate nearest to Penumbra had decided, for a variety of reasons, to construct a brick wall around the core portion of their property. The workers had fired the bricks in a fallow field between the two houses. The raw bricks were cut and stacked in a ziggurat-shaped brick clamp. The logs in the internal fuel tunnels had been lit, and a shimmering heat had slowly risen around the structure. The heat of the baking bricks had been a tangible thing, a wall of hot air so intense it had given Diogenes Pendergast, who observed the entire enterprise from the branches of a nearby live oak, a sense of what it might feel like to be baked in an oven.

  
This day was reminiscent of that experience, a bright blast-furnace of an August afternoon, the high ululating drone of cicadas ringing in the hot, still air. It would have been an ideal day to explore gravestones in the shady cemetery or launch an expedition into the strictly forbidden reaches of the swamp, but Great Aunt Cornelia was visiting, and upon her arrival, Diogenes forgot all other activities.

  
Many of their relatives were interesting, but Great Aunt Cornelia put them all in the shade. Both Aloysius and Diogenes agreed that she was beautiful, though she was even older than their parents. Diogenes privately compared his beloved Aunt to the woman in John William Waterhouse’s _The Magic Circle_ – in fact, when he had first seen the painting, he had felt a little shock of recognition. Cornelia had that same kind of stature and sense of slightly deranged purpose, not to mention the marvelous cloud of dark hair.

  
Great Aunt Cornelia was also wicked, wonderfully so. When he was with her, Diogenes always felt that they were sharing a secret joke, and that she liked him best of all her younger relatives. In short, she was exciting, and Diogenes adored her. She even made it bearable to be around Aloysius, something he hadn’t been able to stand since the event which everyone insisted on calling “his illness.”

Diogenes, Aloysius, and Cornelia Pendergast sat at the little wrought iron table in the back garden, several decks of cards piled before them. A pitcher of lemonade sweated in the center of the table, dripping onto the brick pavers below. Cornelia nimbly shuffled a stack of cards and began to deal. “Of course, we’re one person shy of a full game, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll all take responsibility for West, shall we?” She looked at each boy in turn, and they nodded.

“Now, I have always said that in Bridge, one must have either a good partner, or a good hand.” She looked at Diogenes, who had begun to giggle. “Why, Diogenes Pendergast, I know just what you are thinking…and you’re perfectly right. The same can be said of Whist.” Her dark eyes flashed mischievously and she winked at him. Aloysius seemed to have missed it entirely.

“Now, I know you both hold your own in rubber Bridge, and that’s all very well and good, but I think you will appreciate the nuances of duplicate Bridge. Aloysius, suppose we are partners and we play a hand of bridge as North-South. Instead of being rewarded for our absolute score on that hand, our score is compared with those of other players who played the very same deal as North-South against other opponents.”

“I see – so rather than relying on the luck of the draw, the game is decided on skill and finesse?”

Cornelia nodded approvingly. “Precisely, my dear. And I know how you’ve always hated to rely on luck.”

Diogenes looked up from his cards. “But even in rubber Bridge, there are ways of managing bad luck, Aunt. You told me so, remember?”

“Diogenes, that little parlor trick I showed you last Christmas may not be considered, strictly speaking, unethical…” Her voice was serious, but her face lit up and she smiled again. “And therefore, you can use it as often as you like.”

She leaned forward then, eyes flicking back and forth conspiratorially. “If you want,” she said, her voice hushed, “I can even show you a clever little technique like the one that caused that scandal at the Bermuda Bowl.”

“The Buenos Aires Incident?” Aloysius asked. “But that was hard cheating, wasn’t it?”

Cornelia sat up and waved one hand in the air dismissively. “Of course it was. And it would never work as long as you’re playing within the family. Everyone would spot it instantly.” Diogenes felt a little disappointed. “But I played with a couple of crossroaders in Atlanta last winter, and I’ve developed my own little spin.”

“Crossroaders?” Diogenes asked.

“People who make a profession of cheating at cards,” she explained.

Diogenes’ eyes widened. “Can a person make a living cheating at cards?”

Cornelia's expression was rather chilling. “As long as you are careful about whom you are cheating.”

“And you’ll show us the trick of it?”

She reached out and took his hand. “Of course I will, darling. Now, who wants lemonade? It’s a trifle warm out here, isn’t it?” She turned to the side table, but there were no glasses there. “Aloysius, someone forgot to bring the tray with glasses and napkins. Be a dear and run inside, would you? And ask for some fresh ice – but make sure it’s-”

“The icehouse ice. Of course, Aunt.” Aloysius smiled as he completed the familiar request.

He disappeared into the house. Cornelia released Diogenes’ hand, and touched the side of his face, stroked her thumb gently under his damaged eye. “My poor Diogenes,” she said.

Her look was one of such compassion, tears sprang to his eyes. Everyone had been so frantic to conceal what had really happened to him, they seemed to forget that _he_ had been there, that he had seen...what he had seen. He knew, and couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried, and the disconnect between the awful horror of what he had experienced and everyone’s insistence on ignoring it made him feel like he was suffocating. But Aunt Cornelia…somehow he thought she might actually understand.

“Aunt…” he said, biting his lip to stop it from trembling.

“Yes?”

“What…what did they tell you happened to me?” he asked. His voice was unsteady, and he felt as if his body might fly apart. The dim, strange chattering grew stronger in the back of his mind.

She patted his hand. “They told me all of it, dear. Oh, they didn’t want to, but I got it out of them. Scarlet fever. How utterly preposterous.”  
Diogenes felt an overwhelming relief. He suddenly understood why people were always talking about a sensation of a great weight being lifted – it was trite, but it was splendidly accurate. He felt like he was breathing for the first time in months. _She knows, and she said so!_ For a fleeting moment, it felt as if the whole world made sense again.

“You know, dear, I’ve never liked living in New York,” his aunt’s face grew remote. “In fact, I find it so distasteful…almost _unbearable_ …” she trailed off. “Nobody wants to talk about that, either. So let’s just say…I understand.” Her face was a little sad, and more than a little mad, but Diogenes knew they were in a state of perfect empathy in that moment.

“Thank you, Aunt,” he replied.

“Everyone always says Aloysius and I look so alike, we could be mother and son. And of course I’m very fond of your brother – no, don’t glare at me, sir, I’m allowed to love all my great-nephews. But that’s just the outside. On the _inside_ , I think you and I have the greater affinity.”

To his surprise, she leaned over and kissed him, once on each cheek and then, very lightly, on the mouth. He blushed furiously.

“Oh good, here comes your brother,” One white hand fluttered to her hair, which was prone to spring out of its pins, especially in hot weather. “You remember what I said, dear. No matter what else happens, at least you and I will know the truth.” She shot him a warning look, and turned, smiling once again, to his brother.

Aloysius returned to the table with three ice-filled highball glasses on a silver tray. He distributed glasses and Cornelia filled each from the pitcher. “Now I made this myself, just this morning,” she said as she handed a glass to each nephew.

Diogenes and Aloysius looked at each other for an instant, though neither spoke. She sensed their hesitation and looked up, glancing back and forth between the two brothers.

Aloysius examined his glass coolly, then set it down. Cornelia looked at his pale, sober little face and laughed merrily. “Honestly, as if I’d try anything so obvious. If I wanted to kill you, I’d use strychnine and put it on the playing cards. You’d absorb it through your skin.” She reached over and took his glass from him, sipped, and handed it back. “See?” she said. “It’s fine.”

She turned to take Diogenes’ glass, but he had already begun to drink. It tasted as sweet as the joy of her unexpected understanding. He didn’t care if it killed him. It was his opinion that if Aunt Cornelia wanted him dead, he would die, and be happy that it had been at her hand.


End file.
